“We need to do some needling today,” said the doctor in charge of making my back pain disappear.
“Great. What are we making? Booties or caps?”
He smiled. “Not knitting needles, I’m afraid. Acupuncture. I’m going to use needles and current to stimulate your lower back.”
“You’re going to run volts through me?”
“Just some mild ones.” I shrugged and climbed on the table. Whatever got the job done.
Minutes later I had seven needles protruding from my back, all hooked to a small battery. “I’m going to leave you for about 15 minutes while this works. If you need anything, just let us know.” He rolled a black stool over and placed a small hand bell on top. It gave the impression that if I got a hankering for hot tea or cucumber sandwiches while I was being electrocuted, all I had to do was ring the bell and a butler would attend me.
So as I lay there face down giving my best impression of a porcupine on jumper cables, I started imagining What If scenarios.
What if the building caught on fire? Would they remember to come unhook me and take the spikes out of my back? Or would they all be clustered outside watching the roof go up in flames when the receptionist remembered to ask, “Hey, what about acupuncture girl? Did we get her co-pay before we evacuated the building?”
What if I had a sneezing fit? I have those frequently during pollen season, and I generate enough respiratory violence to catapult my body off any table even if I haven’t been impaled and hooked to a Duracell.
What if the machine went haywire and started increasing the voltage? I’d suffer capital punishment for crimes such as drowning my peace lily (may it rest in the peace it never had in my home) and for failing to empty the lint screen after each load of towels. As I watched through my window at the enraged clouds gathering, I knew this was not the time for a power surge.
Thankfully, just as I was mentally picking out my cemetery plot, the timer sounded and a young woman strolled in to disconnect my back from the outlet. The doctor asked me to try to touch my toes, which seems to be an important goal in this electrifying game, and when I fell about 7 inches short, more wrestling holds ensued. Now that I know the drill, I’m going home to work on my toes. There’s got to be a way to get those puppies to stand straight up.
© 2013 – Traci Carver